StarStruck
by Ubuntista
Summary: Melisandre Asimov's journey on the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-D. Picard/OC. Rating T just to be on the safe side. I changed her name. It was Artanis before.
1. Chapter 1

**Star-Struck**

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. Neither is Data, despite the fact that I love him to pieces.

* * *

"Captain, could you come to the ready room? A matter of some urgency," said Riker, sticking his head out the door.

Picard looked up from a panel he was studying, surprised. "Yes, of course, Number One," he said. "Andrews, you have the bridge." He stood up, noticing most of the bridge crew were not sitting in their usual places ("Ah, the usual bunch; the Counsellor, Yar, Data, La Forge, Worf… they're all there already", he thought to himself. "Very interesting.")

He walked into the ready room, and sat at the seat at the end of the table that was his. Around him, the rest of the bridge crew already sat, as he had thought. And, there was another woman sitting there. She was wearing a yellow uniform, with the pips of a Lieutenant Commander. She had lots of reddish hair middling between orange and auburn bound up in a messy knot at the back of her head, and big brown eyes that seemed to take everything in at once. She was sitting and chatting gaily with Deanna as the Captain walked in, and did not notice him until he sat down and cleared his throat.

"Number One?"

"Ahh, yes," Riker said. "We have been assigned a new bridge crew member while you were in the holodeck, sir. Admiral Prestley was here to introduce her and let us know of her specialty – she holds a Computer Qualification A-3, and works in Engineering. If I may introduce – Captain, this is Lieutenant Commander Melisandre Asimov. Melisandre, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

Melisandre stood up and saluted. "At your service, sir, now and always."

Picard stared at her. He didn't get how suddenly they'd assigned him a new crew member – oh, so be it. "Greetings, Lieutenant Commander. I trust you have been shown around the ship?"

She shook her head. "No sir, Commander Riker told me you would do so yourself, as an introduction. He said you usually do so for new bridge crew members."

"Oh. Yes, I had forgotten. Apologies."

Deanna stifled a laugh. The Captain, flustered? Not usual, at all. There was no one like Picard to keep cool.

He stood up. "Well, if that's all, I have a tour to guide. Come, Asimov." She stood up in silence and walked out after him.

* * *

"So this is the medical area, laboratories are on our left, patient rooms, quarantines, and storage closets on our right." Picard strode down the hallway, not noticing that Melisandre, being far smaller than he, was jogging to keep up.

"Captain? Sir, please, do slow down!" Melisandre panted. Picard came to an instantaneous standstill and noticed the girl's red head bobbing at his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.

"Oh, dear me, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting I'm not with Riker – that man's legs are impossibly long even for me to keep up with," he said apologetically, "I shall remember. Shall we go on to the engine room?"

Melisandre's face lit up. "Oh, Sir! I would be honoured to see the great Enterprise's engine room." As they started down the hall again, she breathed out "Engine Room." This was something unbelievable, to her. A Galaxy Class starship!

They came to a halt outside the engine room. "Would you like the honours, Lieutenant?"

Melisandre stared at him. He mentally kicked himself and looked down, away from the surprise in the big warm brown eyes. "You mean, sir... to activate the entering code? Myself?" she gasped, breathless. "Oh, _Sir!_"

He could help smiling at the grin she had on. "Go on, then, Asimov." He gestured at the touchpad next to the door.

Melisandre strode to it, head high, touched the pad, and said in a ringing voice, "This is Lieutenant Commander Asimov. Open Engine Room doors."

The computer beeped. "Identification accepted. Opening doors." With a whoosh of air, the door slid open.

She laughed with joy, and strode in, a grin from ear to ear. "This is _fantastic!"

* * *

_

After Picard had taken her over the ship and shown her around, she found her way to her quarters on Deck 13. They were small but very comfortable, with a small desk, a series of shelves and drawers, and a bed in the corner, with a small table laid out with some information viewers. She also had a computer terminal for research. She plopped down on the bed with sigh. Scarcely had she gotten comfortable when the door buzzed.

"Oh, fine. Come!"

There were a few hesitant footsteps, and an almost timid male voice asked, "I am not bothering you, am I, Lieutenant Asimov?"

She shook her head, and then realised the man (whoever he was) couldn't see her do so. "Not at all! Come in."

The man came to the door, and she was surprised to see he had yellow eyes and pasty white skin. "Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Data, and I am a positronic android. When I heard your last name I became quite intrigued."

"Good heavens," Melisandre breathed, "This ship just keeps getting more and more exciting. First, a glorious engine room, and now a real android! Come sit down, Data! Oooooh...."

Data smiled, and sat down beside her on a chair. "Is your surname truly Asimov?" he asked, curiously.

She grinned back. "Yep! Direct descendant of the great Isaac himself, at your service."

"But that is most intriguing! Isaac Asimov created the basic foundation for the creation of androids." said Data, studying her intently.

"Yes... my father always said that I carried on the gene. I always had a way with computers, you see..."

"Fascinating," he said. "And do you really... find the computers interesting to you? There are not many who truly have a connection--"

"Data, dear," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "There is _nothing_ I love more than computers. Excepting possibly yourself." He got up to leave, but just before he reached the threshold of the room Melisandre gave up and hugged him tightly from behind. "Data, you are definitely the dearest thing ever. I'm so pleased I have this chance to serve with you!"

Data smiled again, and with a tip of an imaginary hat strode out of the room. Just before the doors to her quarters closed, she heard a passing crewmember ask, "Hey Data, why the happy face?"

She then flopped back onto her bed. "Whew, what a day! What a ship! And an android! How lovely!" she murmured to herself. Then she giggled. "Data is such a sweetie. I really do have to figure him out more." With that, she put her head down and fell asleep.

* * *

Next morning, bright and early, she was on the bridge at a computer terminal working on the ship's computer and running diagnostics. Whistling absentmindedly, she didn't notice the rest of the crew members come in, and continued working until a deep amused chuckle startled her. She spun around.

"Oh! Worf! You gave me quite a scare." She grinned, and playfully punched his shoulder.

He smiled back. "And good morning to you, 'Lise." He winked and went back to his station.

As Natasha and Deanna came up they both greeted her and she felt very pleased to have been stationed at such a wonderful ship with such a great crew. Towards early evening she stopped, and went to the ready room, where Riker and Picard were having a discussion over drinks as to the best defence against a cloaked Romulan attack, as a mental stimulation. She smiled as she stood to report.

"Report, sir." Picard waved her on. "Ran a series of diagnostic programs on the ship's computer, sir, and found that—"

"Please, Lieutenant, there is no need for so many 'sir's," Picard said with a smile.

Melisandre blushed slightly. "Sorry, si--. Sorry. Anyways, I found while running the diagnostics a bit of a blockage in the information flow and I was able to remove it with a bit of rephrasing the access program."

Riker looked up suddenly. "Would this blockage by any chance cause a delay in retrieval of information with regards to early human scientific trials?"

"In one, sir," she said.

"Ah. Very good that it's done, it had been bugging me for a couple of days."

Picard nodded. "Well done, Asimov."

She nodded. "Thank you, sir. Also, I think the best tactical evasion for a cloaked Romulan ship would be to wait until they lower their shields to fire and to lock on instantly with photon torpedoes and phaser beams."

Riker got up and clapped her on the shoulder with a wide smile.. "Very good indeed, Lieutenant! Just what I was thinking." He inclined his head to Picard. "Captain." With that he swept out.

Picard stood up and was about to leave when Artanis stopped him. "Sir, if I may... I would like to propose an experiment on Data's thought processes."

He stopped and turned around. "Oh? Go on, Asimov."

"I would like to test his performance against himself. I have a hypothesis as to the workings of his positronic circuits that I would like tested."

Picard raised his eyebrows. "And how would you propose to do this?"

"I would have him connect to a simulation of a chess game. Just regular chess, not the 3D one or any other variant, the standard game from old Earth. I would have him play against himself at high speeds, and see his reaction."

"Interesting. Permission granted, Lieutenant, and do inform me of any findings you may have." With that, he exited the room, leaving Melisandre quivering with excitement.


	2. Chapter 2

Star Struck 2

Melisandre's introduction to the Enterprise - and the fact Captain Picard knew nothing about her transfer until she arrived - was not an event easily forgotten. She quickly got to know the crewmembers and officers she was in contact with, and got to like them all as much as they liked her. It wasn't hard to like her, really - she was a vibrant girl, full of life, and was always grinning and laughing with her new mates.

Her relationship with Data had gone further as well. He found it fascinating that a human girl would find such a connection to the ship, its computer, and himself. He would frequently spend off-time with her, the two becoming great friends. During the first 3 months of her station on the Enterprise, her tests on him, with the chess, had been interestingly inconclusive...

---

BEEP. "Asimov to Captain, come in please."

Picard pressed his communicator. "Yes, Asimov?"

"Found something interesting about Data from the tests I've been running. Do you have a moment?"

"Of course. I'll be in my ready room. Picard out."

Melisandre grabbed Data's arm and yanked him off of the chair, with some difficulty (he was much heavier than her, and a good few inches taller as well). "Come on! He's waiting!"

Data stood up and with a shrug of his shoulders followed her. "Are my methods of chess that important?" he asked, confused.

"COME ON!" She tugged at his arm and hurried out again.

---

Picard sat down on the sofa and crossed his ankles, surveying the two in front of him. Melisandre was quivering with excitement, and Data was looking at her with confusion at her reaction.

"Captain! This is incredible. No one has ever tried pitting Data against himself, and this conclusion I've come to has no precedent known before!"

Picard hid a grin at her excitement. It _was_ so contagious - but he must keep himself in line. "Well, go on, get to the point, Lieutenant."

"Data has been playing chess against himself for the last _three months_, Captain. The _same game_. And has only managed to capture 7 pawns, 3 black ones and 4 white ones. When a human plays against himself or herself, eventually the game is won. But Data so far is unable to beat himself."

Picard nodded. "Yes, that is rather interesting. Any ideas as to the significance of this?"

Melisandre shrugged. "Getting there. So far, sir, I've only realised what's been going on. He's done more than 60,000 moves! It's unbelievable."

"Very well," said Picard. "If you find any significance, do let me know."

Melisandre saluted. "Of course, sir. C'mon, Data." With that, she grabbed Data's hand and pulled him back to the bridge. Data looked apologetically at Picard, whose response was a suppressed laugh.

---

Another few months passed, in the interim Tasha having died. Melisandre was terribly struck by her death, since she was such a helpful and kind friend she had made in the first few days on the Enterprise, and stayed in her quarters for a few days after she died, mourning her. She kept her work up from her terminal in her quarters, but refused to come to the bridge. "It's just a few days," she reasoned, "and I've been keeping up on things. Captain Picard shouldn't be too worried."

In fact, she was wrong.

Picard, loath though he was to admit it even to himself, was getting fond of the small woman. The bridge to him seemed missing something when she wasn't there, and even though he had her work sent directly to his terminal to review, he wished she would return. He understood her sentiments and respected them, but he _was_ permitted to be selfish, just a bit, right? He was impatient for her wide smile and warm brown eyes to look up at him when he called on her for a report. Won't she come back soon?

Only Will noticed the Captain's fondness for her. He noticed his smile when he looked at her, and how his eyes would follow her if she moved from the Science Terminal to speak with Worf or Data or Wesley. It sort of amused him, to be honest. He didn't give too much thought to it. How the Captain feels about his bridge crew was his business, not Will's.

Melisandre herself was feeling lonely in her quarters, and decided to return to the bridge earlier than she wanted. When she strode out of the turbolift peoples' heads turned, since they weren't expecting anyone to come up, and all wore grins.

"Good to see you back again, 'Lise," said Will warmly.

"I sense you are feeling better," added Deanna.

Melisandre smiled. "I _am_ feeling better, but mainly I was stewing in myself and wanted to come up to civilisation."

Worf frowned. "Civilisation? 'Lise, we are in the outskirts of the Horsehead Nebula, there is no civilisation here."

She laughed. "It's a _metaphor_, Worf."

"Oh. How... human." Worf wasn't very good at human usage of words not in their usual meaning.

She approached her station, and realised the Captain was standing next to her chair. "...Hello, Captain Picard," she said.

"Glad you are feeling better, Lieutenant." He turned back to his chair, paused, and turned back. "It's good to have you back on the bridge," he said.

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled. The Captain was not usually particularly free with feelings.

---

Suddenly...

BOOM.

"Captain, we've been hit on our starboard side! Shields at 50%," boomed Worf jerkily, his hands running over his panel in an effort to re-raise the shields.

Picard jumped to his feet hurriedly. "Scans!"

"Scans show a Romulan warship closing on the starboard side, sir," Data said.

Picard stuttered and then regained composure. "All decks to Red Alert! Asimov, La Forge, Riker, report to the bridge immediately! Arm photon torpedoes and phasers! Dr. Crusher please prepare for possible medical emergency. Open hailing frequencies, Worf."

"Photon torpedoes and phasers armed and locked, sir," said Worf. "Hailing frequencies open."

"Acknowledged!" said Beverly over the comm.

"Very good, stand by, Mr. Worf," Picard said. He stood up and strode to the front of the bridge. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Why do you attack us?"

Will and Geordi rushed off the turbolift and sat at their stations. Meanwhile, the ship rocked again.

"Front shields at 70%. We're getting hit hard, sir," Data said.

Suddenly the Romulans answered Picard's hailing. "We have nothing to talk about, human. We shall destroy you. Pray that it happens quickly." The screen shut off.

Picard looked confused and shocked. He shook his head to clear it and gathered his wits. "Fire all phasers!" he said quickly.

"Firing all phasers, sir," Worf said.

The turbolift doors opened just as another bout hit the ship and rocked it. Melisandre, who was in the lift, was thrown out, with a horrible crunching noise. Everyone around flinched.

"I'm ok," she gasped, cradling an obviously broken wrist. "Don't worry about me, get those Romulans shot out of the sky."

Picard nodded. "Fire photon torpedoes."

"They've used the cloaking device, sir, we're unable to lock on." Worf slapped his hands on the panel.

"Damn," Picard said irritably.

"Captain..." Will said cautiously.

"Yes, Number One?"

"When they uncloak..."

"_Yes_, Number One!" Picard slapped Will's shoulder encouragingly. "Worf, keep an eye out for the Romulan ship - when they uncloak to fire on us, destroy them."

"Aye, Sir!" Worf said.

"Asimov, please program a trajectory based on the Romulan ship's last heading," Picard said.

"Working, sir. Feeding it into the terminal," she said.

"Got it," Data said a second later. "Prepare for firing on a count of 5...Five...Four...Three..."

Another hit shook the bridge, knocking out a few terminals and sending sparks up Geordi's arms and down his entire body. He fell down, twitching. Melisandre grabbed him, and the electrical sparks climbed up her arms as well. She collapsed.

"...Two...One...Firing photon torpedoes."

An explosion rocked the ship again, but this time it was the Romulan ship disintigrating.

Worf bent down suddenly, and pressed his communicator. "Bridge to sickbay."

"Sickbay here. Go on, Worf."

"We have a medical emergency. Please come as soon as possible."

"On my way. Sickbay out."

Picard turned around. "Medical emergency?"

"It's 'Lise and Geordi, sir," Worf said, "I think they were electrically shocked from a faulty circuit."

"Damn." He hurried up and knelt down beside Worf at their side. He looked at him helplessly. "Are they..."

"I do not know, Captain."

Beverly ran out onto the bridge and scanned them. "Not good. I'll need to take them to Sickbay." Two ensigns lifted them gently onto a stretcher, which they maneuvered back onto the turbolift.

"Beverly," Picard said suddenly.

"Yes, Captain?" she said inquiringly.

"Let me know of any changes, no matter how small. Please," he added, "it's a matter of some importance."

"Of course, Captain." She smiled, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Star-Struck 3

Forgive me if I'm moving a bit fast. I really wanted to get to the story – I was getting tired of the preliminary background required to get to know Melisandre.

One year after Melisandre's transfer to the Enterprise…

Beverly, Deanna, Melisandre, and a few girls from the nursery were sitting in Ten Forward having tea and cakes during off hours, chatting.

"…And she said she thought he was cuddly!" giggled Annelise, an ensign in charge of the nursery.

Deanna laughed. "She really thought so? I wonder what the Captain would say about that."

"The Captain would say about what?" Will stepped over the back of the chair and sat down. "Hello, ladies."

"Hey Will," Beverly smiled. "Annelise was telling us about young Tricia McKenzie. She seemingly finds," here she chuckled, "the Captain to be rather… cuddly."

"Cuddly?" Will raised his eyebrows. "And how old might this young lady be?"

"Ah, no worries, Will, Tricia's just turned three," Deanna said. Will choked on his coffee and laughed out loud.

"Which led to our speculation as to the Captain's response – we all know he's not too big on kids," Melisandre added.

"I'd say that's a bit of an understatement," Beverly said. "And not just little kids – even Wes unsettles him."

"Beverly, we all know the Captain is very proud of Wes' achievements," Deanna began.

"Oh, I never said he wasn't. He's just a little…unsure, that's all. Though you'd never catch me saying anything of the sort about any other aspect of him."

"I feel honored to have been transferred here to serve under his command. Hell, what would've I done under Captain Darkner? I probably would've worn my fingertips through from tapping them against each other," Melisandre said.

"Well, we all know Darkner's infamous personality runs far ahead of the man himself," said Beverly.

Lynne, another crewwoman from the nursery, nodded. "Yeah, definitely. You see, he's my uncle."

"Hmmm," said Will. "I met the man in Starfleet during my training. Must admit I found him an awful bore. I see your point, 'Lise."

She nodded, and opened her mouth to reply when the computer's voice was heard. "Officers Riker, Crusher, Asimov, Troi, Singh, Reisa, and Westford, please return to your stations. Next shift begins in 10 minutes."

"Damn, there goes our last break of the day," Beverly sighed, and got up to stretch. "I'll be going. See you all later."

Everyone nodded and went their separate ways.

Later that evening, when the night shift began, everyone gathered in the aft lounge. Will was playing chess against O'Brien, and they had drawn a small crowd.

"Rook to… Rook to Bishop Four, Queen's Level," Will said determinedly. He was going to win this one.

"Oooooh," came the collective voice from the spectators.

"The Riker Maneuver!" laughed Beverly.

"'Riker Maneuver', indeed," said Will. O'Brien moved his piece. Will scrutinized the board, and moved one of his pieces. "Check… and, I believe, Mate."

O'Brien got up and offered his hand. "Well played, sir."

"And you," Will returned and looked around. "So… does anyone dare to question my lawful championship?"

"Will," said Melisandre, "You have time for another game?"

"Ah! I smell a nonbeliever. Come, madam, and I shall—"

"Oh!" she laughed. "I didn't mean me, I want you to play Data. It's for an experiment I'm doing."

Will's jovial grin faded a bit. "I meant a human, flesh and blood contester to my crown, not Data." He winked.

"Come on Will!" she begged. "Please?"

He sat down. "Oh, all right, just for you. Get your mechanical bottom on that chair, Data; I accept your challenge to my kingdom."

"I see, sir," said Data slowly, raising his eyebrows as he sat down across from Will.

"Hey Data, no pressure, I just wanted to try something." Melisandre squeezed his shoulder. Data nodded, and the game began.

For a while, it seemed nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but suddenly Deanna noticed something.

"Will…" she said slowly, "I think he stole your move."

Will studied the board. "I'm inclined to think you're right. What's this, Data? Stealing the 'Riker Maneuver'?"

Data cocked his head on the side and frowned. "No sir, I am employing the only logical method of annulling your strategy."

A small squeak came from Melisandre's open mouth. "I…I…I've got it!" she whispered.

"Got what?" asked Beverly.

"I've got it!" she whispered again, slightly louder.

"'Lise, what is it?" Deanna said with some worry.

"That's it!" cried Melisandre. "Deanna, you're a genius. Data, that's why you haven't been able to beat yourself! You pick up on your opponent's nuances of play and use them to your own advantage – and when you play yourself, it causes a loop. This is the answer I've been looking for for a year!" She slammed her communicator in her excitement and promptly winced. "Asimov to Captain Picard. I have reached an interesting and rather sudden conclusion to my studies on Commander Data."

"Acknowledged, Asimov," came the Captain's voice. "I will be happy to discuss it with you tomorrow morning after the morning briefing if you'd come to the ready room."

"Be there with bells on. Melisandre out."

Everyone looked at each other. Melisandre out? Not Asimov out?

Later that night, Melisandre called on Deanna while on her way to quarters.

"Deanna? Could I speak with you for a moment?" she called through the door.

"'Course, 'Lise, come in," Deanna said, rushing to open the door. "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course," Melisandre said hurriedly, "I just wanted your opinion on something."

"Well, come in, sit down." Deanna sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her. Melisandre sat down, looking perplexed.

"Well, you see, it's Captain Picard."

"What about him?" Deanna asked.

"It's…well, you've probably noticed how he refers to the bridge crew. Geordi is 'Geordi'. Worf is 'Worf'. Data is 'Data'… not that there's any other way to call them, but… Beverly is 'Beverly', you're 'Deanna', Will is 'Will'… and I'm 'Asimov'. He even called Tasha by her nickname! I've been here for a year, Deanna, what have I done wrong? Why won't he even call me 'Melisandre', he doesn't have to adopt ''Lise' like the rest of you, I just feel so…" she faded.

"Frustrated?" asked Deanna.

"Exactly."

Deanna sighed. She had noticed it but gave it no second thought. "I know, 'Lise, I do. But Captain Picard is a very private man, and he probably does not feel comfortable addressing you so familiarly. I'm sure he'll come around, you don't need to worry."

"I'm not worrying, but… alright, I'll relax and take my mind off it. It shouldn't mean so much to me anyways. Thanks, Deanna."

"Not at all. Good night, 'Lise."

"'Night, Di."

Bright and early the next morning Melisandre reported to the bridge to continue running tests on various systems. She had been assigned a parallel role to Geordi, who kept an eye on the physical workings of Engineering while she oversaw the computer's part in running the ship.

"Good morning," greeted the Captain as he walked off the turbolift. "Worf, Data, Will, Asimov." He walked down and settled himself in his chair. "Anything interesting?"

"Nothing, sir," Data reported. "No ships in the sector."

"No abnormal sensor readings," added Worf.

"And everything's running shipshape here and in Engineering," Melisandre said.

"Lovely." He stretched and slapped his knees. "So, what is our ETA for arrival on Aldebaran Three?"

"Three days, six hours, forty-two minutes, and—"

"Thank you, Mr. Data."

Everyone hid smiles, and returned to their work. Picard and Will withdrew to the ready room for a briefing.

After an hour or two, Will returned. "The Captain wishes to see you, 'Lise."

"Aye aye, sir!" Melisandre saluted him with a flourish, and, leaving the rest of the crew laughing, marched to the ready room door and pressed the chime.

"Come!" said Picard's voice. Suddenly, she wasn't so confident anymore, and faltered. She took a deep breath and stepped in.

He was seated on the couch with a cup of tea and a smile.

"Good morning, sir." She looked at his feet.

"And to you, Lieutenant. What was so important that you called me in the middle of a ride through the Himalayas yesterday?"

"Begging pardon, sir, I had no idea—" she began.

"No, I expect you didn't. No harm done, though. " He looked at her and noticed she still did not make eye contact. "Look up, girl. Come, sit down, let me make you a cup of tea. Now, talk."

She smiled shyly and quickly looked back down. "Well, sir, I hope I didn't get too excited, and that you don't view this as a waste of time—"

"Please…If I found this a waste of time, I assure you, you wouldn't be here." He looked at her kindly, and inside wondered what he could do to make her less intimidated. "Asimov…" he was suddenly and inexplicably reminded of how she had last closed her communications to him – _Melisandre out_. "Melisandre…"

She looked up instantly, and met his eyes with surprise. _There,_ he thought to himself,_ That's better._ "Melisandre, go on. I'm listening."

She told him of her findings.

"That would mean, I suppose," mused Picard, "that in any situation requiring strategic thinking, if we set Data on to it he will adapt the opponents' methods to his own advantage?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it!" cried Melisandre. "And, if the opponent does not adapt in his own right, the inevitable result would be Data's victory."

"Fascinating." Picard stood up. "Well done, Asi-… Melisandre. That was very good indeed."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, sir. I won't take up any more of your time, sir." And with that, she walked out.

Picard found himself oddly empty. He'd gotten her to open up (and wondered why the hell he hadn't called her "Melisandre" before), and just when he was getting used to it she swept away. Damn.


	4. Chapter 4

Star Struck 4

Upon arrival at Aldebaran Three, the away team were briefed on the customs of the culture there.

Will leaned over the table. "A visiting diplomat is respected only if proof of his or her skills is implicitly shown in the first meeting. As such, I plan to have Data and Worf come along as people whom I have negotiated peace with."

Everyone nodded. It was a good plan.

"And I'll need Beverly up here to have everything ready when we transport the medical people up."

Beverly nodded. The cases of Aldebaran Sun Fever were in the millions already in on the rather small main continent, and the Enterprise had come to offer assistance, despite the shaky relations.

"And I'll need a resident female to help with the culture influence. Deanna, are you feeling up to it?"

Deanna shook her head. "I'm sorry, Will, I have a few appointments that the Captain finds most important – Granger, Smithers, Joliet, and Kiern. I'll have to stay behind."

"So, 'Lise, I guess you're stuck with me." He grinned. She grinned back. Despite the fact that she was not usually taken on away teams, she always surreptitiously read up on the cultures and customs of the peoples the crew came in contact with. She would need some more reading, but overall, she felt prepared. "Great. Data, Worf, Geordi, wait for me at Transporter Room 4 in 40 minutes. 'Lise, finish any briefing you need, and assume anything you feel will help soften the culture shock. Let's get going."

Melisandre finished reading most of the papers on the Aldebaran culture, and went to the replicator.

"Computer." It beeped. "I need a large green and gold headscarf, about 150 centimeters by 50 centimeters. Thin silk."

The computer beeped again, and a large folded scarf appeared. Melisandre bound it around her head in an elaborate knot, aided by the readout on her _PADD_. Then she gave it a look in the mirror, and, satisfied, made her way to Transporter Room 4.

"What's that?" asked Will, eyebrows raised and finger pointing at the headscarf.

Melisandre hesitated. "I was trying to figure out what sort of character I should play to have the Aldebarans open up to us more. The only female figure they welcome in a diplomatic party is the diplomat's wife, and I figured if I played that role—"

"Say no more. If it works, I'll owe you one in Ten Forward." Will smiled. "Ready, everyone?"

Everyone nodded.

"Energise!"

O'Brien powered up the transporter, and they faded out.

They materialised in the centre of a lavish garden. Around them stood vaguely humanoid forms, with a reptilian skin and large yellow eyes in an elongated skull. Their three legs were set in a triangular shape, and their two arms ended in three taloned fingers each.

Will stepped forward. "Greetings to you."

The Aldebarans shuffled slightly. "And to you, humans. Do you come to aid us against the fever?"

Will bowed. "We do. May I introduce my companions, these are Commanders Worf, Data, LaForge, and Asimov."

"A female…" the Aldebarans said with open surprise. "Who is she? Is she yours?"

Melisandre flashed Will a look. He nodded imperceptibly. She took half a step forward. "I am his…" she paused for a moment, thinking, "betrothed."

"Betrothed…" one particularly adorned Aldebaran hissed, "what is this 'betrothed' you speak of? Females are not permitted to be part of diplomatic missions on Aldebaran 3…"

Data spoke up. "Betrothed – fiancee, wife-to-be."

There was a pause, during which the Aldebarans consulted within themselves in a gutteral, sibilant tongue. Then, they looked back up. "We understand. We shall allow this," another Aldebaran said. "Please follow, we shall provide for your comfort."

The Enterprise away team let out a breath they didn't notice they were holding. So far, so good.

The mission had gone with success. A few hundred medical people from the planet were beamed aboard to be taught the methods of battling the Sun Fever, and given medicines and information to be spread out amongst the many medical people remaining below. Only one thing was overlooked…

Beverly noticed something was wrong when she was called in urgently to Sick Bay at 0600, which was nearly 2 hours before the morning briefing. When she got in, she was dismayed to find 30 people with bright, sweaty faces gazing blankly at her. She gasped and scrabbled at the PADD she had dropped, unable to pick it up.

"DAMN."She hurried to her office, and found dozens of memos from the rest of the ship. She slapped her communicator. "Sick Bay to main announcement channel. This is Chief Medical Officer Crusher. I have declared a ship-wide medical emergency. Repeat, I have declared a ship-wide medical emergency. If you feel any symptoms such as heat, blankness, nausea, or are unable to stand up, please stay calm and either come in to Sick Bay or into a temporary treatment room in Cargo Hold 6, which will open in an hour. Crusher out."

Before she managed to open her mouth, she was paged by the Captain. "Beverly, what's going on?"

"Damn it, Captain, we didn't immunise our crew for Aldebaran Sun Fever! I'll bet a quarter of the ship is ill by now."

There was silence from the other side. Then, "I trust you're doing all you can. Picard out."

She shook her head to clear it, and then ran back in, rearranging shifts so that a second treatment room in Cargo Bay 9 was able to open as well. She sent supplies down, and then began the long trek of treatments.

Over on the bridge, the pace quickened slightly. Everyone knew the effects of Aldebaran Sun Fever – it was a knock-you-out-for-a-month-if-you-don't-catch-it-in-time disease, and a fairly painful and debilitating one, too. The Medical team were working overtime, and most people were caught fairly quickly. Picard was pacing his ready room, biting his cheek nervously. Will was tapping his fingers on the chair, and Deanna's hand was twitching toward stopping them. Geordi kept shifting in his chair, and even Data seemed preoccupied.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_!" Picard strode out of his ready room. "What kind of breach of regulations is this?! We knew we were going to be in contact with a virulent disease, and we completely forgot about it?!?! Damn, damn, _DAMN!_"

Deanna sighed and got up. She walked to where Picard had leaned his head on the wall, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We're all human, Captain, you have no need to worry so about it. We'll get over it, you know our medical team has no match in Starfleet."

Picard shrugged one shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure, Deanna, but this is a lapse of judgment detrimental to the standing of that medical team, myself, and even possibly the Enterprise!"

Deanna hushed him. "Don't speak that way. Be positive – the rest of the crew draws on you for strength and morale."

He nodded dumbly, and inside resolved to see this thing through without any further problems arising.

Little did he know that it would be less than possible.

During the next week Sick Bay and the two Cargo Hold infirmaries swelled to their limits, holding hundreds of people. Beverly was rushing around, administering doses of the strong fungal medicine from Vega Six, comforting patients in pain, helping the team – she felt like she was about to collapse. Geordi, Melisandre, Will, and Deanna popped by whenever they could to raise her morale, and Picard checked in on her frequently from the bridge. She leaned on her desk in exhaustion just as Geordi finished a shift and came in.

"Beverly! How's it going?" he said, smiling.

Beverly shook her head feverishly. "I can't contain it – it's spreading, and some of the med team with weaker immune systems are succumbing." She slammed her hand on the table. "Geordi, I can't keep this up. We're losing!"

He took her arm and gently seated her in a chair. "Hey, don't talk like that. Listen. We're going to win this, right? We have the most capable medical team in the galaxy. And, it's headed by the best goddamn CMO in Starfleet. The Fever hasn't got a chance!"

Beverly shook her head. "Geordi…"

He waved his hands at her and she stopped. "Listen, Doctor Crusher. You get in there, you show those guys what a hell of a team you are. We'll stop by later, 'Lise and Data and I, and we'll bring something for you to eat. 'Kay?"

She nodded weakly, got up, sighed, and with a wan smile walked back into the infirmary. Geordi walked back to Engineering, feeling better about her.

What neither Geordi nor Beverly noticed was that she was holding a tube with samples from one of the patients during their quick talk. Within the next 3 days, half of Engineering was in Sick Bay, including Geordi and Melisandre.

Meanwhile, Picard, pacing his ready room, was alerted by the computer's voice. "Urgent message from Starbase 238."

He sat down quickly and connected to the signal. It was from Admiral Thomson, who was stationed at Starbase 238, the nearest Starbase to the Enterprise's current position.

"Picard! I heard what's going on on the Enterprise. I must say I'm a bit ashamed, but hey, we're all human, we all make mistakes…"

Picard couldn't believe his ears. "Admiral…?"

Admiral Thomson laughed. "No worries, Picard, things happen. I have orders from Starfleet to get you all over here to some normal medical facilities. How soon can you be here?"

Picard hesitated, then paged the bridge. "Data, what is our ETA for Starbase 238 at warp 6?"

"3 days, 17 hours, sir," Data replied.

Picard relayed the information to Admiral Thomson. "Very good, Godspeed."

"Thank you, sir." Picard shut off the terminal and jogged to the bridge. "Lay in the course, Mr. Data."

"Course laid in."

"Make it so."

The Enterprise made a low humming sound and began to shake. Data shook his head. "We're still on half impulse."

Picard paged Engineering in a frenzy. "Bridge to Engineering."

There was no answer.

"ENGINEERING! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? WHERE ARE MY WARP ENGINES?!?!"

There was silence. Just as Picard, who was by now quite enraged, was about to page a third time, a timid voice spoke up, panting.

"I'm sorry, Captain, most of the officers from Engineering are in Sick Bay. This is Ensign Pandora Keyes. I can't reroute the warp engines myself, and the only other people here are Ensigns Gallagher, Burns, Himmler, and Davidson, and a few crewmen. We're running on bare minimum, you see."

Picard's mouth fell open. "Where 's Geordi?" he almost whispered.

"Sick Bay, sir."

"And Barclay?" he said, louder.

"Also Sick Bay."

"Asimov?" he nearly yelled.

"Her too, sir. Everyone, except the nine of us here. We're doing the best we can, sir. I'm sorry we can't do any better."

Picard collapsed into his chair, his eyes closed and mouth twisted into a tight line.


	5. Chapter 5

Star Struck 5

Over the next few weeks, the status of the Enterprise's crew didn't change much. People were in and out of the infirmaries by the dozens, and Engineering, being one of the later sections infected, was still empty. Picard by now didn't walk out of his ready room, where he sat over multiple cups of no-longer-hot Earl Grey, fuming, day in, day out.

"WHERE ARE MY WARP ENGINES?! GIVE ME BACK MY WARP ENGINES!!!" he raged. He stood up abruptly and sent his PADDs and cups of tea flying with a wild accidental sweep of his arms. Then he stormed over to Sick Bay.

Will, who had taken over the Bridge, paged Beverly. "Just warning you, Doc, you have a very bad-tempered Captain on his way up."

Beverly stifled an unbidden giggle. "Thanks for the warning, Will." She barely had time to sit down in her office and pretend to be busy when Picard stomped in.

"BEVERLY CRUSHER…!!!!!"

Beverly held a hand up. "Hoooooold on, Captain. Take a deep breath….good….now, how about you tell me what's bugging you?"

Picard opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then spluttered "WHAT'S BUGGING ME?!"

Lieutenant Selar stuck her head around the doorframe. She, unemotionally of course, had noticed someone yelling at Beverly and wanted to make sure everything was alright. Calmly, she noticed the irate patient was not a patient at all, but the Captain himself, and seeing no reason to interfere, went back to her work.

"Yes," Beverly said gently, hiding her hands under the table and crossing her fingers, "What's bothering you, Jean-Luc?"

He stood up violently and waved his arms around, still red in the face. Then, with a huge sigh, he collapsed in the chair, and covered his face with his hands. "What have I done?" he mumbled plaintively.

Beverly got up and walked around to his side of the desk. She put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. "It's ok. Jean-Luc, we're ALL human. You don't have to blame yourself for this, it happens. We're going to win it over – heck, why am I telling _you_ this? Only a few weeks ago you were letting _me_ cry on _your_ shoulder! Pull yourself together, Captain. Come on, that's right, it's ok…"

Picard was torn. He felt guilty. It was all his fault. _No, it's not_, said the little Deanna Troi in his mind. _It happens to the best of us. Even beings like Q make mistakes_. He smiled, despite his other feelings. Q, eh?

Slowly, the infirmaries were emptying. First Cargo Bay 6 was emptied, and reverted back to its original purpose. Then, Cargo Bay 9, the larger one. Finally, Sick Bay was slowly releasing the crew back to their quarters for observation, and then back to duty. Will and Data had come down when Geordi was released, and now only about 50 people were still hospitalized. A few, mainly children, were still in critical condition, but Beverly was feeling very good about herself, the team, and the progress they had made. Picard was still furious with himself, but then, that was his usual behaviour when something went wrong aboard the Enterprise.

Melisandre stretched and pushed her long red hair out of her face. She swatted irritably at the tubes in her arm. Her elbow was held in a stasis field at an angle, and 4 or 5 thin transparent tubes filled with medicine and nutritional supplements were embedded in the back of her hand, reaching up to the machinery behind her head. Beverly was still a bit worried about her, and had kept her in for a few days more than the rest of the Engineering crew, due to Melisandre's allergic response to standard medication for the Sun Fever.

"Hey."

Melisandre whipped around, her arm hanging on an awkward angle. This was the last voice she was expecting. Ok, maybe not _last_, that would be the Captain.

She let her breath out, and relaxed. "Hey, Will," she grinned.

Will turned the chair beside her bed around and stepped over it, straddling it. "How's it going?"

She shrugged with one shoulder, and readjusted the blanket. "Beverly has some kind of grudge against me or something," she said petulantly. "She won't let me out of here."

"I heard that, 'Lise," Beverly said, laughing. She pulled up a chair next to Will's. "I'll let you out soon."

Melisandre sighed, and plucked again at the tubes. "This medieval thing and I just don't get along." Will suppressed a laugh. "What do they call it again? Intravenous feed? I feel like Data when he hooks himself up to the computer."

This time neither Will nor Beverly could hold their laughs in. Their hearty chuckles were what greeted Data and Geordi when they came in to say hi.

Data cocked his head on the side. "May I ask what is amusing?" he asked.

Beverly and Will laughed even harder, and this time Melisandre couldn't help it and chuckled herself. "Sorry, Data, we were having a bit of a laugh at your expense."

Data frowned. "At my expense? I do not recall paying for your laughs."

This sent everyone into yet another side-aching laugh. Beverly, still trying to can her laughs, threw her hands up good-naturedly. "Ok, ok." She gasped for breath. "Laughter is the best medicine." She stopped and gasped again. "Out with you!" She fell back in her seat, still laughing.

Melisandre gaped at her. Beverly motioned Lieutenant Selar over, being as she was still laughing, and had her take Melisandre' arm out of the stasis. Her uniform was placed on her bed by the ever-placid Vulcan, and she got up cheerfully, with a whoop. She ran off to the adjoining bathroom to wash up and get dressed.

By the time the crowd had stopped laughing at poor Data, she had come back, prim as usual, hair bound up in the usual messy knot that she wore, uniform straight and spotless. Misconstruing Beverly's approving nod, she stood in front of Will. "Lieutenant Commander Asimov reporting for—"

"Oh, No you don't," Beverly said suddenly.

Everyone turned to her.

"I haven't discharged you yet. You will have 3 days of prescribed rest in your quarters before you go back to duty, is that clear, Miss Asimov?"

Melisandre snapped her fingers. "Darn. Fine."

Melisandre walked back and forth sullenly in her quarters. Boy, was she _bored_. Suddenly, she had an idea.

"Computer."

It chirped.

"Feed to the terminal all professional musical instruments in the replicator catalogue."

"Processing." There was a pause. "The list contains 425 items. Would you like to narrow your query?"

"Narrow to baroque instruments."

The computer paused again. "The list contains 29 items. Feeding to terminal."

Melisandre read the list, and huffed. It wasn't there.

"Computer, feed to terminal the list of all keyboard instruments in the replicator catalogue."

"The list contains 46 items. Feeding to terminal."

She read it carefully again, this time catching it. "Computer, why isn't harpsichord under the baroque period?"

"The harpsichord is a new addition to the replicator catalogue and has not been categorised yet."

She shrugged. "Computer, replicate harpsichord 13A in replicator bay 9."

Replicator bay 9 was a small niche in the replicator room with a large replicator pad, used for large things such as furniture.

She then paged Chief O'Brien. "Hiya, Chief."

"Hi 'Lise. What can I do for you?"

"I just replicated something in replicator bay 9. Could you beam it to my quarters?"

"Your wish is my command," he said. "O'Brien out."

No sooner had he said so, than the harpsichord appeared in the centre of her quarters.

"_Fantastic_," she breathed. She sat down at the stool and ran her fingers over the keys, listening to the sound carefully.

"Computer, load Bach's 3rdBrandenburg Concerto, and remove the harpsichord from the piece."

"Processing. Ready."

"Play."

She got a thrill as the music started playing, and then quickly noticed that she both missed the cue to begin, and didn't have the notes. She yelled at the computer to stop.

Data was passing by her quarters on the way from his, where he had been feeding Spot, to Ten Forward. His ears picked up the beginnings of the music. It took him 5 milliseconds to recognise it, 3 to figure out something was missing, and a further 3 to realise it was the harpsichord. His curiosity got the better of him when he heard Melisandre yell, and pressed the chime.

"Come," she called.

He stepped in and surveyed the instrument in front of him with interest. "Vienna, 1730s," he stated.

Melisandre grinned. "Yup, now all I need is the notes." She was standing at the replicator, holding a small book. "Care to express your opinion on my playing?"

"I would be pleased to do so," he said.

With a nod and a smile, she sat down. "Computer, commence from the beginning of the movement."

This time she fell into the beat. Data used 2% of the currently running processes to determine that the harpsichord was slightly off tune, that Melisandre was marginally fast in her tempo (but only by a fraction of second), but that the playing, by human standards, was very good indeed.

At the end of the first movement, she paused the computer, and turned to him. "Well?"

"Frankly, you were off tempo, and the harpsichord is imperfectly tuned, but otherwise I think the Enterprise Baroque Orchestra is missing a very good harpsichordist." He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, as he had seen Geordi do when she had accomplished a rather difficult piece of programming, got up, and walked out of her quarters without another word.

She stared after him. She _still_ wasn't able to get used to his odd mannerisms, sometimes.

Will was sitting in Beverly's office. Well, he wasn't sitting, he was fidgeting and pacing and doing everything _except_ sitting. He twitched his fingers impatiently, and sat down in the chair facing her desk for the 7th time. After a few minutes he snapped, "Computer, location of Dr. Crusher."

"Dr. Crusher is entering Sick Bay."

He let out a big breath, and the door whooshed open.

"Will! What a surprise! What can I do for you?" Beverly said, smiling. She swept in and deposited a large pile of PADDs on the table, and then replicated two cups of tea.

Will smelled the cup and got a wistful look on his face. "Solarian, isn't it?"

She nodded, and, taking a sip, surveyed him over the rim of her glass. "Will, you're all worked up. What is it?"

Will slapped his thighs hopelessly. "I was sort of worked up about the concert we're doing for the anniversary of the Enterprise's maiden voyage next week. We're missing about half the string section, a few trombones and flutes, and to top it off we could use a good piano or something as well. I felt we could pull something really majestic – you know how much the Captain likes the strong stuff – but with this it's impossible."

She sat in silence. True, she had noticed in rehearsals things were rather quiet. She always liked hanging around with Deanna when the orchestra was rehearsing, but lately it had been less "rehearsing" than just sitting miserably.

"Well, has Data agreed to play?" she asked.

"Yeah. But he's only one violin, no matter what his ability is. And I really don't like reading up on the crew's information and drafting them – the orchestra is a morale thing, not mandatory."

"Maybe we can advertise?" she said tentatively.

He laughed bitterly. "What, 'Wanted, viola player in good condition'? Come on, Beverly, who's going to take _that_ bait?"

She shrugged. "Worth a try? Post a listing, see what you get. It won't hurt, and I'm willing to bet you'll get some players."

He sighed. "Alright. Fine." He got up, and with an air of hopelessness walked out.

Later that day, a notice was sent to all the crew of the Enterprise:

"_Greetings all,_

_As you all know there will be taking place a concert in honour of the Enterprise's maiden voyage, next week. Unfortunately, we do not have a full complement of players in our orchestra, and find doing such a concert in this condition quite impossible. Please find attached a list of positions, and if you feel up to joining us, please let me or Data know as soon as possible._

_Many thanks,_

_Will Riker._"

Melisandre came home from a hard day of work in Engineering with Geordi to find this message on her terminal. She saw "pianist/other keyboard" on the list, and paged Will. "Asimov to Commander Riker."

"I gotcha, 'Lise. Did you get the notice?"

She smiled. "I did indeed. I was wondering if you needed a harpsichordist."

Will thought a bit. "Sure, we could pull something together. Report to... holodeck 6 at 1800 hours, we'll see what we can do."

"I'll be there with bells on," she said. "Asimov out."


	6. Chapter 6

Star-Struck 6

[A/N: I know, I'm stretching some things, such as ages. Sorry. I'm an imaginative person. :)]

The orchestra was preparing for the first of two performances in honour of the Enterprise' maiden voyage. It was done in this way so that everyone on board would have the chance to attend, in shifts. The first performance, the grand opening, was done in holodeck 2, in a large open-air amphitheatre.

It was Deanna's idea to dress in time to the music, and had the attendees select a costume from the 18th or 19th century Earth. Everyone was pleased to have a chance to wear something so unusual, except one person. Data, of course, had no emotions regarding costume and would just as willingly gone without anything at all.

The performers gathered behind a curtain, preparing to step outside and take their seats. Data, violin in hand and wearing a pale brown coat and britches, was standing beside Keiko Ishikawa and Melisandre, both of whom were dressed in elaborate Victorian dresses, the former holding her clarinet tightly in white shaking hands. Lieutenant Commander Ilya Raskovitch, an accomplished composer and conductor who worked in Security, was standing near the edge of the curtain, ready to take his place at the front. Everyone was tense, but excited. This was going to be a fantastic opening.

The lights set into the floor of the amphitheatre dimmed, and the audience, a group of nearly 500, applauded loudly. The musicians filed out and took their seats, and then Raskovitch stepped out. He was a talented, jovial, well-liked young man, and when the audience saw him they erupted into cheers. He grinned widely and waved. A startlingly large percent of the audience waved back.

He took his place at the stand, raised his baton, and the music started. It was going to be a memorable evening.

Jean-Luc Picard lounged around the refreshments table, relaxing. He had had a lovely time at the concert, and had then met up with Data to applaud his performance playing the lead in Sibelius' Violin Concerto, a daunting and easily botched part. He swilled a glass of wine – _real_ wine, not synthohol – and sighed. It was a lovely moonlit holodeck night.

Melisandre, Data, and Geordi were sitting at a table and talking quietly over drinks. Geordi finished his glass and moved to get up, but Melisandre waved him down. "I'm going to get some food. I'll fill your glass."

"Thanks!" he said brightly, settling back into the chair. "I'm just so," he sighed happily, "comfortable."

She smiled and got up, and then promptly tripped. "Damned skirts," she said irritably, and then grinned.

Data stuck his two cents in. "Ladies wearing dresses of your kind would hold the skirt up in their hands."

"I know, Data, I know – I just keep forgetting! It's not like I do this every day," she said, and with a tight grip on the sage fabric, she stomped off to the wine table.

Upon reaching it, she reached for the bottle of red wine for Geordi, and tripped again, this time falling onto someone next to her, who instinctively caught her. She looked up embarrassedly in the surprised grey eyes of Jean-Luc Picard.

"Oh gosh!" she exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth and quickly straightening up. "I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't watch where I was stepping, and in any case, sir, I can't manage this skirt, and I'm sorry, I really am, sir, it's just so hard to keep remembering to hold it up and—" She noticed they were still holding each other's arms. She quickly let go and stepped back.

Picard couldn't decide whether to laugh or to blush. He ended by doing both. "It's quite alright, no harm done." He looked at her flushed face, framed with tendrils of red hair creeping out of her Victorian-style updo, stood helplessly as his eyes of their own accord moved to her shoulders, hands, waist, and came to the conclusion that she was decidedly lovely that evening. He raised his glass – his fourth, he had forgotten the effect real alcohol had on him – to her. "Lovely..." he sighed, and then mentally slapped himself, "..._performance_, Melisandre. I particularly liked the third movement of Partolli. A nice surprise you did to add her in the programme – I didn't expect a 23rd century composer with all the older classics."

Melisandre beamed. "It was Data's idea, sir. He thought the style was complementary."

"It was indeed. May I pour you a glass of wine?" he gestured at a smaller bottle hidden behind the others. "Genuine Picard Vintage."

"Sir?" Melisandre stared at the bottle, and traced the name with one thin tingling finger. "_Picard_ vintage?"

"Grown by my father in France. I trust you wouldn't object to a toast?"

"Of course not." She took the glass he poured, and attempted to not touch his fingers. It didn't work, and she grew warm in the face.

"To the Enterprise," he said quietly, and gently clinked glasses. She sipped, and nodded approvingly. "Very good, sir."

"Please, Melisandre, let's loosen up a bit. We're off duty, you don't need to lace your every word with 'sir's." He smiled. She smiled back, and then pinched herself in the side when she felt her already-warm face further redden. She needed to get out of this situation, fast.

"Well, sir, I mean, not sir, sir, but..." she frowned. "Damn." Then she looked up and saw Picard fighting with himself not to laugh. She laughed too, and when the moment passed continued to fidget nervously. "I need to give the Geordi to wine – I mean, the wine to Geordi – and he asked, and won't know what happened, and I..." she faltered. "I need to go, sir. Thank you for the wonderful wine." She backed away, nodding, tripped again, and disappeared into the crowd. Deanna saw her and tried to talk to her about the performance, but she brushed her off and ran on. Only stopping momentarily to give Geordi the glass, she flew out, tripping, as fast as she could. _"Damned moonlit evenings!"_

Picard remained alone, staring at the place where she had stood almost wistfully. _"Damned moonlit evenings!"_ he thought. He drained his glass and went to mingle with the rest of the crowd.

Melisandre collapsed in a pile of green fabric on the floor of her quarters. She covered her face in her hands, and moaned. "What's wrong with me?" she mumbled. "Why did he suddenly become so attractive? Why now? Why me? Why _him_!?" She tugged at her hair and it tumbled down to her waist in smooth dark red waves. She picked herself up, and ran pell-mell to Deanna's office, where she fell into a chair, and waited.

An hour or so later a very happy, rosy-faced, giggly Deanna Troi entered her office to close up for the night, and was very surprised to see Melisandre there, looking as if the world was going to end. She had sensed very strong emotions from her earlier that evening, but had dismissed it as a side-effect of the passionate music she was performing. "'Lise! How long have you been waiting?"

"Almost an hour," Melisandre said, still with the stricken look on her face.

"What are you doing here? You should've been enjoying yourself in holodeck 2. Come, sit here, tell me what's wrong."

Melisandre moved to sit beside Deanna mechanically, and then buried her face in her hands again. "It's…he's…we…aaaaargh!"

Deanna suddenly understood what the emotions she was feeling from her were. Then, she realised, with growing confusion, that she had felt the same kind of emotion from Captain Picard, who normally does not let his emotions out of the tight wall he kept them in.

"...He?"

"It's Captain Picard. The way he looked at me tonight...the way I felt when our hands touched on the wine glass...the way I couldn't tear myself away from being caught in his arms when I tripped..." She sobbed incoherently, "I don't understand what's gotten into me!"

Deanna's mouth fell open. Things were _really_ weird. She made a mental note to ask Picard how many glasses of wine he had had, she figured that would be the cause of the lapse in his mental wall. She then smiled at Melisandre. "What's gotten into _you_? Did you not think about _him_? You stunned the poor man – god knows, he must be losing sleep over you now. You think I didn't notice what he was feeling? He was projecting so strongly I was half-surprised the crew didn't feel it."

Melisandre sobbed miserably and shook her head. "I can't do it. It's overwhelming!" She grabbed Deanna's arm and hugged her.

Deanna hugged her back. "It's really not all that bad, 'Lise. Love comes for a reason. Sleep on it – I can guarantee you'll feel better tomorrow after a nice warm tea."

"Tea!" she wailed. "Tea!"

Deanna flinched. _Oops_. "Not tea, then. Strong espresso. Or maybe a chocolaty mocha – I'll join you if you go for that." She smiled, and then relaxed as she simultaneously saw Melisandre smile weakly and felt her cheer up even that little bit.

"You got yourself a date. My quarters, 0730, and I'll provide the drinks." She got up, and smoothed her skirt. "Thanks, Di, I really fell to pieces. I guess," she giggled, "it was the Picard vintage." She left, leaving Deanna standing there, terribly confused.

Will had noticed Picard was rather out of it all evening. He kept looking over at the door, as if expecting someone, and was stuttering and red-faced all evening. Beverly, too, had been puzzled, but felt in her bones there was something more than a few glasses of wine too many to this. Neither of them, though, had any idea what was going through his head.

He lay in bed, without having bothered to change out of his suit. He ran his hands over his head, and sighed. _Her eyes. Who said brown eyes couldn't be captivating? Her smile. I'd do anything for that smile. Her face when she looked at me. When I held her when she tripped. Her fingers, touching mine on the glass. How her eyes looked for mine when she was talking with Deanna_...Deanna_!_

He got up with a sudden movement, and ran to the replicator. "Computer, standard dosage of trichloriletharic acetylate!" he cried. The pills appeared. He downed them and then felt better as he felt the effects of the alcohol in his system subside. He sighed, walked back to his bed, groaned and flopped backward onto the pillows. He grabbed one and hugged it, and then, visualising himself, tossed it aside with another groan.

He got up, and walked to the mirror. He looked himself sternly in the eye, and attempted to reconstruct his "Captain's face". It didn't work. He poked his reflection on the nose, and berated himself. "This, Jean-Luc, is not right. Not only is she a subordinate officer, she's younger than you by goodness knows how many years... Computer! What is the age of Lieutenant Commander Asimov?"

"Lieutenant Commander Melisandre Asimov is thirty one years of age."

"_Thirty one_? Damn." His main argument had been blown out of the water. She was only 9 years younger than he, and in the liberated customs of the 24th century, that was still acceptable. Even Beverly and Jack Crusher had been more than 9 years apart! He shook his head, and buried himself in his beloved Shakespeare.

The next morning, Melisandre woke up, wrapped herself in her robe, and replicated two decadent mochas. Deanna appeared, just as she said she would, and the two curled on Melisandre's sofa with blankets.

"So. How are we feeling this morning?" Deanna asked.

Melisandre made a face. "Just. Don't. Go. There."

Deanna shrugged. "I was just trying to help. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. We can talk about something else..."

"YES." She scanned the room for a subject, and her eyes lighted on the gift her parents had given her when she was accepted to Starfleet – a large, gold-trimmed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare. It was from the 21st century and been handed down in the family, despite the fact that most of its owners never read it. Melisandre loved it. She got up, retrieved it, and opened it reverently. She passed her fingers on the yellowed pages, and said softly, "'There is not anything of human trial, that ever love deplored or sorrow knew, no glad fulfilment and no sad denial, beyond the pictured truth that Shakespeare drew.'"

Deanna stared. "That's... lovely, 'Lise."

She looked up, a soft smile gracing her face. "I saw it written on a wall of an old library back on Earth. It was carved in the stone wall above a great doorframe. It made my heart tremble, and I have always remembered it since."

"I wish I had such a connection to something. I think us Betazoids, because of our ability to pick-up emotions and thoughts, see more in the abstract than the real. We don't develop connections like that." Deanna took the book, and weighed it in her hand.

The computer chirped. "Senior staff meeting in 30 minutes."

The girls got up, stretched, cleaned up, and left together.


	7. Chapter 7

Star-Struck 7

Jean-Luc Picard was reclining comfortably in his chair on the bridge, balancing a PADD on one knee, and a cup of tea, supported with one hand, on the other. Everything was running shipshape, and they were 5 hours away from Starbase 395, for routine upgrades to the ship.

He gazed around at the crew around him. Worf was reading a PADD describing the upgrades to Tactical that would be installed. Will was talking quietly with Deanna. Wes was daydreaming, his eyes staring at the viewscreen, slightly unfocussed. Melisandre had hooked Data up to a diagnostic machine she had put together with Geordi's help, and the two were inspecting readouts while Data waited patiently. _What a great team_, he mused. Suddenly, a voice came on over the comm.

"Sickbay to Bridge."

_Uh-oh_, he thought. "Picard here."

"Beverly here. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I am waiting on Messrs Picard and LaForge for their physicals. I know Geordi's been busy with the warp core lately, but I find no such excuse for you, Captain. So, please report here within the next hour. Also, 'Lise, we can see you with them, so you might as well come down too."

He frowned. _Damn_. "Oh, alright. We're on our way. Bridge out. Geordi, Melisandre, let's go." He got up, put the PADD down, handed the cup of tea to Will, and marched out stiffly. Everyone knew how much he hated physicals and hid grins.

"Sickbay!" he barked, when the three were in the turbolift. The others knew better than to say anything. When they arrived, Beverly took his arm and led him to a room aside, while Geordi waited. Dr. Selar took Melisandre to a biobed and started scans.

"Hmm... it seems better than before," she said. "Have you been exercising regularly?"

Melisandre sighed. "Yes, I've been doing everything Beverly told me to."

Selar inspected the readouts above the bed. She pointed to one. "But the tissue density is still lower than we expected." She took a hypospray out and injected it. "This should help with the pain, until we can isolate another batch of Fertutian Gallu essence." She then went to the back room to check on supplies for the isolation.

"Whoa, whoa," said Geordi suddenly. "Pain?"

"Nothing too bad, Geordi, there isn't any reason to worry," Melisandre said.

"Oh, yes there is. Let's have it." Geordi plopped himself down on the side of the biobed and looked at her. Despite the fact that his eyes were covered with the VISOR, his stare was still efficient.

"I have a condition called Farset Disorder, discovered by Jenice Farset in 2259. When someone has Farset Disorder, their muscles start developing gaps in the tissue, which eventually can completely disintegrate. I have to keep medicated, or otherwise things can deteriorate very quickly, and at some point it becomes irreversible," she said quietly. "I developed it six years ago when I was a Lieutenant aboard the Dostoevsky. The mix of gases I was in contact with in the faulty warp core area and the stress and the foreign substances in the air from exports sent from Ragun 7 all played a role. We'll never know exactly what happened."

Geordi sat in silence. He had heard her occasionally cry out when working in irregular positions when trying to reach somewhere deep inside the circuits, and had seen her every once in a while come in with a tight bandage wrapped around her lower arm or thigh, but never understood why. Now, he knew. There was a pause.

"Does anyone else know of this?" he asked solemnly.

"Beverly and the medical team, and it's written in my file, so I suppose the Captain does too," she replied in the same tone.

"And it won't bother your work?"

She grinned. "Has it before?" When he shook his head, she laughed. "I told you it wasn't bad!"

Just then, Selar returned. "We'll keep you in for the night and run the isolation, and tomorrow morning we can hook the injector up." She pulled a gown from a drawer next to the biobed, and gave it to Melisandre. "Here."

Geordi got up. "I'll give you your privacy. I'll bet Beverly's almost done with the Captain by now. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You bet!" she said, with a wide smile. "Good luck!"

"You too." He walked back to the other room.

Melisandre changed clothes, folded her uniform and put it on the table next to her, and patiently got into bed again, with only a few twinges of pain.

The evening shift was uneventful on the bridge. They were docked and the upgrades were going on, so everyone who was interested stayed on board, the others either went to the base or stayed in their quarters. Worf was watching the engineers install the new Tactical, Geordi and Data were in Engineering talking with a few people who had come up from the base to inspect the warp core, Wes was studying, Will was examining some maps of Sector 79, and Deanna was nowhere to be seen.

Picard stretched. "I'm going to Ten Forward. Worf, you have the bridge."

"Aye, Sir," said Worf in his deep voice. "Enjoy yourself, Captain."

"I will." He walked to the turbolift, and got off on Deck 10. He strolled into Ten Forward, sat at the bar, and waited. Within a few seconds a head, covered with a flamboyant round hat, popped up. "Hello, Picard, what can I get you?" Guinan asked with a smile.

"How about... A Saurian Brandy. Small, though." He relaxed, listened to the light jazz playing and the quiet chatter of the full room, and sighed. As Guinan prepared the brandy, he spied Deanna sitting alone out of the corner of his eye. He took the drink and approached her.

"May I join you?"

Deanna gasped and spun around. She had obviously been preoccupied. "Oh, of course! Sit down!" She smiled. "How are you, Captain?"

"Well, enough. You?"

"I'm doing well. Sorry, I had zoned out a bit before and didn't notice you coming."

"Is there something wrong?" he asked intently.

"No... well, at least, not anymore. She's doing much better now that Dr. Selar is caring for her."

"Who's she? And what's wrong?" Picard sometimes felt very uneasy about Deanna's empathic abilities. She thought of the damnedest things at the damnedest times.

"Oh! It's nothing really, 'Lise's in Sickbay, but she'll be out tomorrow."

"What?!" _The hell?_ "What do you mean, she's in Sickbay?"

"She's getting treated for her Farset disorder," Deanna reminded him.

_Oh. Right. I remember._ He paused. "'Lise!" he said softly. "Deanna, I need to talk to you."

"Any time you like, Captain," Deanna said. She suppressed her excitement. She was possibly on the edge of finding out what all that was about the night of the concert.

"It's about...Melisandre." He took a deep breath and collected himself. He looked at her. She looked at him. This went on for about 5 minutes. Then, he slammed his hands on the table. "It's been sitting on me for months!" he finally exclaimed, staring at his glass.

"Months," she echoed softly.

"I don't understand how I pass the day by. I look at her, and I lose myself. I! I, Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation Galaxy-Class Starship Enterprise, En, Cee, Cee, Seventeen-Oh-One! And I lose myself, in ...in...in..._her_!" he whispered to her breathlessly.

"Napoleon had his Josephine, Caesar his Cleopatra..." Deanna said quietly. And when he looked up, she finished, "And Hamlet his Ophelia. You're not the first to have fallen in love, Captain. Many have before you."

"Love," he groaned, rubbing his face. "I think that may be the last thing I need at the moment."

Deanna reflected over his psychological file. He was, at forty years of age, about 8 years over the average male marrying age. He had always been secluded, alone, never wanted companionship except from very close friends, which were few. She could understand how falling in love with a girl, transferred just 2 years ago to his ship, despite being a senior officer and an integral part of the ship's crew, would be traumatic to him.

"Here's my advice," she said slowly, thinking. He gazed at her attentively. "Relax. This is very important. Don't be constantly worrying about your feelings, or hers, or your relationship at all. If your unconscious mind wants to pursue this, it will, when it feels right. Don't push anything."

He chuckled. "Relax, eh? Easier said than done."

"I know," she said, squeezing his arm, "but it's the only way. Believe me. You're not the first who's come to me for counselling in this specific area."

He nodded. "I'll try."

She smiled. "Good."

The next morning, an injector was implanted in Melisandre's arm, slowly releasing her medication. She was released from Sickbay about noonish, and was told to take it easy for a couple days. She decided to stop by Ten Forward and look outside a bit.

As she stood there, the door opened. Data came in, carrying a case of PADDs and some odds and ends from Engineering.

"Hello," he said.

She turned around, a wide smile on her face. "Data! Oh, it is _good_ to see you!" She rushed up impulsively and kissed his cheek.

He blinked and cocked his head to the side. "Fascinating. This is a manifestation of a human gesture of affection?"

She laughed. "Yes."

He thought for a second, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek back. She laughed again, pleased. She had a real soft spot for him.

He laid out his things on a table. "I brought you something interesting to do while you are resting."

"Oh?" she asked, interestedly.

"These are records of a 20th century operating system called Linux – one which my programming is descended from. It is very advanced for its time, and one which continued to develop and grow over the length of 250 years. Its creator, a human from the country Finland, wished the programming of the ancient computers of then to be freely used by all, and not have to be paid for." Data drew up an image on the PADD. "Its symbol was a penguin."

"A penguin." Melisandre repeated doubtingly.

"Affirmative. I figured you would be interested in the history of the programming. It is very clever." Data offered the PADD. She took it.

"Thanks."

"How do you humans say it? 'Do not mention it'?"

"I won't," she laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

Star Struck 8

A few months had passed. Everything was status quo. The Enterprise had been called for diplomatic meetings on Wika 3, and they had gone very smoothly (it was a surprise, since very little was known about the Wikans, but it turned out bald heads were believed to be a sign of wisdom and fairness on Wika.) Picard refused to give in to his feelings, and Melisandre had pushed hers out of the way as well.

Melisandre, Data, and Geordi were in the observation lounge, playing a game of Rummy. Data was researching old Earth card games, and insisted on playing each one. Luckily, Rummy was still played in the 24th century, so unlike Spit, Full Moon, Old Maid, and Widower, he didn't have to teach the others how to play. They were halfway through the fourth hand (Data smearing the others, as usual), when they were paged.

"Engineering to LaForge."

"Geordi here."

"Barclay here, sir. I think something's gone funny in the routing of the life support on Decks five through nine. Could you come down and take a look? Oh, and maybe Data could too?"

"We're on our way. LaForge out." He stood up. "Sorry to rain on the party, 'Lise, but we gotta go. We'll be back as soon as we can."

"No worries!" she said cheerfully. "It won't take long to sort it out, I'm sure."

They left. She sat down and waited.

Meanwhile, Jean-Luc Picard had gotten a communication from Admiral Nechayev. She sent over information regarding Romulan activity near the Neutral Zone, and since the Enterprise was near, she wanted him to be prepared for any surprises. He told Worf, at Communications, to patch in the information to the Observation Lounge, so he could study it. He entered, and balked upon noticing the familiar auburn head in front of him. He approached her.

"Melisandre. I did not expect to find you here."

She leapt out of her chair, startled. "Sir!"

"At ease," he said stiffly. His brain was yelling at him to relax.

"I'm sorry, sir. Do you need the room? I could go out…" she said, hesitantly.

"No!" he said earnestly, and then, to cover, he added quickly, "Stay, you'll know all this later in any case."

He sat down, motioned toward the chair beside him, where she promptly sat, and activated the screen. He went through the material in depth – she was too distracted to take in much. She didn't know it, but he was distracted as well.

Afterwards, while he was making notes about the information, she stood at the window and gazed at the stars zipping past.

"Lovely, aren't they?" she suddenly heard a voice directly behind her.

She jumped slightly, as she hadn't heard him approach. "Yes…" she sighed.

"I can think of something lovelier," he said quietly. "She's here with me." She turned her head slowly, and met his eyes. They gazed into her own. She didn't know what to say, and said so. "There is no need to say anything," he said, still very quietly, and reached over and touched her cheek gently. "To me, your very thoughts mean more than the universe itself."

They stood silently for a while, just looking at each other. Then, Melisandre turned her head back to the stars. "Sir," she whispered, "do you really think this of me?"

He smiled at her warmly. "I do." He put his arms around her, and held her to him, his head over her shoulder, both looking out at the stars together. He rested his chin on the top of her head, and sighed.

She turned her head back to look at him, and felt a thrill go up her spine as she noticed his eyes, a darker grey than usual, gaze deeply into hers. She felt her body move closer to his without her conscious bidding.

"'Lise," he breathed, and stroked her hair gently.

She looked up at him, and responded, "Captain," in a voice just as enraptured.

"Jean-Luc," he corrected her in an almost inaudible whisper, and bent down. She had barely a second to react before she realised he had brought his lips to hers and was softly kissing her. She nearly collapsed, and held on to him tighter, which in turn prompted him to kiss her more passionately. After a moment to gather what was left of her wits, she responded. They lost themselves in one another's embrace.

And that was when Data and Geordi walked back in.

Geordi's mouth fell open. He turned away from the couple, who were obviously unaware of his presence, and silently withdrew. Data, however, had no such tact. "Excuse me, sir, are we bothering you?"

Jean-Luc and Melisandre jerked apart, much to her dismay. She had been quite wrapped up in his kiss and had not wanted to leave his arms. "Mr. Data!" he cried, not sure what to do with himself. Feeling his face turn an uncomfortable shade of red, he turned back to the window. She touched his shoulder gently, and he rewrapped her in his arms, but Data still stood there. Melisandre turned her head to him, despite the red staining her cheeks, and whispered "Data, we're sort of... _busy_."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she made a shooing gesture with her hands, and he finished with an "Oh!" and promptly left.

Unfortunately, the moment had passed. They faced each other, blushing and stammering.

"I—"

"We—"

"It was—"

"I wish—"

She suddenly laughed, and the tension broke. She found herself once again in his arms being kissed.

The next morning, she felt like walking on air. She met Deanna on her way to the Bridge and flashed her a smile that would have continued off her face if it could. Deanna stopped and put her hands on her hips.

"Alright. Spill. What's going on?"

Melisandre continued smiling. "I had such a lovely evening last night..." she said dreamily.

Deanna tapped her foot. "Well?"

"The Captain and I spent the evening together in the Observation Lounge..."

"And?" Deanna had felt things and she thought she was imagining them. If they were true – well, that would be a very good thing for both parties involved.

Melisandre leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "He kissed me."

Deanna did a little dance in her brain. Suppressing the "YES!" that she wanted to yell, she grinned and whispered back, "And how was it?"

Melisandre closed her eyes. "Wow."

"Who would have thought? Picard, the dashing starship captain, sweeping the love of his life – an officer from Engineering – off her feet." Deanna giggled. Melisandre grinned – sometimes girlfriends were terribly fun.

Melisandre was pacing her quarters, worried. All during the Staff Meeting Jean-Luc did not even meet her eyes. He paid no attention to her at all while she spent an entire shift on the bridge, most of it alone, poring over binary sheets and writing programs. She greeted him when he passed by her station, and got only a distant nod. And after last night! She had felt her hold on reality slip when he kissed her – and now, nothing. Not a sausage.

She bent down and picked up a book that had fallen off the table, and replaced it. Her hands shook – she knocked a coffee cup over and spilled its contents. She replicated a dust cloth, wiped the table clean, replaced the book. Then, she put on some light music, sat down on the sofa, and sighed. She stared at the cover of the enormous Shakespeare volume, lying on the sofa seat next to hers, and when the door signal rang she fell off the chair.

"Coming!" She scrambled to her feet, and opened the door.

In front of her was Jean-Luc. "'Lise. May I come in?"

She moved aside dumbly. He walked in and surveyed her quarters with interest, as he had never visited her before. With a smile he turned to her, and moved to take her into his arms. She took a hesitant step back.

"Sir?"

"My dearest," he said, softly as ever. He again tried to embrace her, but she withdrew, terribly confused.

"Sir, I don't know what to think," she faltered, seeing his eyes so warmly set on hers. "After last night... and your behaviour to me all day..."

He suddenly realised what he had done. "Oh, 'Lise!" he cried. "I did not mean to make you feel rejected, for that is the last thing you are. I just... I haven't the faintest idea how to break this to the crew, and—"

She narrowed her eyes. "How to break this to the crew, sure, but when Geordi and Data happen to walk in on us? Geordi I'm not worried about, but Data is endlessly untactful and naive and by now I'm sure most of the ship knows."

She watched, surprised, as this registered in his brain and he promptly dropped onto the chair behind him. "You mean... everyone knows about my...feelings towards you..." he trailed off.

She realised how hard it would be for him to accept this. She sat down next to him and took one of his hands in both of hers. She paused, took a deep breath, and said, "I know this is hard, sir—"

"Jean-Luc. Please," he said.

"J-J-Jean-Luc... sir! I can't call you that, sir, it feels like insubordination!" He had quite effectively succeeded in drawing her away from the subject she was trying to bring up.

"It is not insubordination if it's you." He moved towards her for the third time, embraced her, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "My lovely 'Lise..." She looked up from his feet to meet his eyes, and their lips met. She put her hand to his neck and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him and holding her close. She felt warm, loved, safe.

He ended the kiss and rested his cheek against hers. "I guess the cat's out of the bag."

"Yes, sir." She snuggled closer, and he smiled.

"Then, why don't we make it official and go over to Ten Forward for a drink?" He got up and offered her his arm.

She took it and laid her head on his shoulder. "I would be delighted."

They made their way, hand in hand (despite the looks and whispers that followed them and the red cheeks they bore), to Ten Forward, ordered drinks, and chose a quiet table in the corner. Melisandre nestled snugly in the crook of his arm, and they leaned into each other. Reaching up to touch his cheek, she asked him, "And why won't you tell me how your day was?"

He smiled down at her over his teacup. "Uneventful – that is, until now". He bent down and brushed a kiss on her head. "And yours?"

"I think it was missing a great deal of a certain Captain," she said, mischievously and with a sparkle in her eye.

He gently raised her chin and kissed her. "Better?"

"Much." She kissed him back.

From then on, Melisandre and Jean-Luc were official. He would stop by her station whenever he passed and would smile at her, kiss her hand, or just give some small sign of affection. Every time he passed her face would light up and he would wonder how he never realised how lovely she was. Of course, that was all in his head, she wasn't anything more than vaguely pretty, but to him she was the most beautiful of all.

The rest of the bridge crew were relieved that they weren't a particularly exhibitionist couple. They were quiet and never were all over each other during duty hours. Things went on as usual on the bridge in particular and on the Enterprise in general, except suddenly Jean-Luc would appear more often at Ten Forward, usually with Melisandre in tow, but not necessarily. He would occasionally come to the more exciting chess matches (usually Will or Data playing), and cheer with the crowd. He grew to be a bit more social – not much, but just enough to have everyone be more comfortable around him.


End file.
